


Arranged

by Stellalana



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, One Shot, Speed Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellalana/pseuds/Stellalana
Summary: Your best friend practically begged you to attend the konkatsu party with her, despite the fact that you were absolutely not looking for a husband.
Relationships: Kaiba Seto/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 118





	Arranged

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day! I decided to write a super quick little one shot within the context of a Japanese speed-dating party. This started as a writing exercise of a few paragraphs but I decided to finish it off and post it for y'all. Enjoy!

Sapphire eyes that sparkled when they caught the white light bouncing off the walls, a dense crop of chocolate colored bangs that looked to be freshly cut, and a pair of lips that were set in a permanent, passive frown. He was conventionally attractive, that much was undeniable. You had just barely looked over the questionnaire he had handed off to you, although you politely let your gaze wander down to it every so often to make it seem you were interested in the answers written. The only information you actually absorbed was the fact that he had A-type blood.

You felt a little bad for your lack of interest in both the konkatsu party in general and the twenty-one men who had sat in front of you so far, if only because it had seemed like most of them were putting a lot more effort in than you were. Truthfully, you weren’t exactly looking for a boyfriend, much less a husband, the only reason you were at the hotel in the first place was so your friend wouldn’t have had to go alone. The hors d'oeuvres were pretty yummy, too. 

You glanced at the digital clock on the stage to your left, which had been steadily counting down from three minutes, now reading two minutes twenty-three seconds. Of all the men who had sat in the dining chair in front of you, only one other had been silently reading through your resume for the entire first minute of the short time limit. You couldn’t even remember his number now, he had been so early in the flow of constant conversation, and particularly awkward. 

The brunette sitting opposite you now didn’t seem nearly as awkward, although his blue eyes had been fixed on the clipboard, it didn’t seem it was because he didn’t know what to say to you. There was this air of confidence about him, the way he sat perfectly straight in his chair, how his brow furrowed when he read something. He would glance up to your face every few seconds, but he hadn’t spoken yet, and seemed more like he was taking in your opinion of what he had written. You might have had more to offer him outside of a passive stare had you actually read any of it. 

“You don’t seem particularly interested in this event,” was the first thing he said to you. He spoke in a low baritone, the sound ringing clearly over the quiet chatter of the men and women surrounding you in their own interviews. 

“Is it that obvious?” You hummed, allowing a bemused smile to crawl its way onto your lips. 

“You’ve glanced to the clock three times since I sat down, hardly looked at my questionnaire, and even from two seats away I could feel your boredom seeping into the atmosphere.” 

“That’s some impressive deductive work on your part,” you smirked, pointing to one of the tables a few rows down. “My friend asked me to come with her, her mother has been pressuring her to come to one of these things so she can find a husband.” 

“A familiar story,” he hummed, though it seemed he was talking to himself more than anything.

“Your parents are anxious for you to get married too, hm?” 

“Not my parents, but yes. I’d much rather be working than attending one of these ridiculous ceremonies.” He said vaguely, a sour tone to his voice. 

“Well, my sympathies,” you replied, “Being pressured into a relationship isn’t something I envy.”

“You yourself have no interest in such things.” He stated dryly rather than questioning you. 

You made a so-so motion with your hand and set down the clipboard with his questionnaire, “I’m not opposed to the idea of dating, but I have very little time for it. I’d need to find someone alright with me being first and foremost married to my job.”

He gave a low hum in reply, intense azure eyes holding your gaze, squinting ever so slightly in thought. You took the opportunity to take a sip of your water and glance at the laminated number he had clipped to the front of his suit jacket. Nineteen. 

“Your work,” the man cleared his throat and you looked back up to meet his gaze, “What exactly is it you do? You simply wrote in your survey you work for a law firm.” 

You set your glass back onto the table and smiled politely, “I’m a corporate lawyer.”

He raised his eyebrows just slightly, “I see. Any particularly exciting cases you’re working?” 

“None I can talk about I’m afraid,” you chuckled, “Although that also depends on your definition of ‘exciting’. Most don’t find corporate law particularly interesting.” 

“You’d be surprised what I find interesting, then,” he hummed, a disarmingly handsome smirk appearing on his lips.

You thought he might just be humoring you, as other men you’d talked briefly to had before him, although none of them had shown much interest in your work. But he seemed quite matter-of-fact in his speech, and although you’d only known him for less than three minutes, he didn’t appear the type to put on an act for you. 

“Well perhaps if we were to get to know each other more, I could share some of my old cases with you.” You hadn’t meant for it to sound like you intended to see the man after tonight, the thought just flowed from your mouth naturally. You were used to being polite and making tentative plans with friends and colleagues, many which were never fulfilled.

“Perhaps,” he muttered noncommittally, glancing once again to your resume in front of him.

It wasn’t long after that when a chine ranged clearly throughout the ballroom, signalling the end of the three minutes of conversation. The brunette reached across the table and handed you your clipboard, taking his own from your hands. He stood at once in a swift, practiced motion, and without passing you a second glance, walked to the next table. You found yourself quickly missing his company, if only because he was the first person you had been having an actually enjoyable conversation with, but ultimately you were glad that you only had to sit through three more interviews before you could go home. 

After another grueling nine minutes of dull conversation, the announcer standing on the stage on the other end of the ballroom excused you all to take a few minutes to grab refreshments and decide on a prospective partner. You wandered your way to the banquet table and refilled your glass of water, drinking it down with a sigh of relief. The night was over. Well, it would be after a few more minutes of smalltalk between those who had selected each other from the evening’s speed dating interviews. 

“So, did anyone catch your eye?” Amagi cooed, saunter toward you with her own clipboard in hand and a ballpoint pen waiving in the air like a conductor’s wand. 

You rolled your eyes, “I’m here for emotional support, not to find a husband.” 

“Oh come on,” she pouted, “If I have to pick someone so do you! It doesn’t have to be your future hubby.”

“Amagi--”

“Pleeeeease, don’t make me sit alone in front of some stranger and exchange phone numbers. If you happen to match with someone all you have to do is go on one date and then dump them.” 

“That’s a mean way to think about it,” you sighed, though she continued to give you her signature puppy-dog eyes. “Ugh, fine! I’ll pick someone, stop looking at me like that.” 

She grinned and returned her attention to her clipboard, humming in thought as she flipped through some notes she seemed to have taken. You looked to your own paper, a small card with the instruction to write down the number of whomever had most caught your interest. With a sigh, you scribbled the number nineteen down and clicked your pen closed. 

He was the only man who hadn’t asked you how many children you planned to give him, or when you would want to quit your job once you were married. He had seemed interested in your work, at least as interested as you thought he could be with his icy stare and monotone voice. You sincerely doubted he would pick your number to write on his own card, anyway, you had been pretty upfront about the fact that you weren’t looking for a spouse at this party. Writing his number down was more for Amagi’s happiness than anything, and you’d likely still be walking out of the hotel ballroom without a date. 

The master of ceremonies on the front stage tapped his microphone into his palm a few times and requested your attention, instructing the women at the party to pass their notecards forward and take a seat back at the tables they had been occupying previously. You grabbed a few crackers to nibble on while you waited for numbers to be paired with one another and sat down. You locked eyes with Amagi at her own table, watching her examine her cuticles, bite at her bottom lip, and wiggle anxiously about.

The organizer eventually made his way to the banquet table behind you and began passing notecards to the men, waiting excitedly to see who, if anyone, they had been matched with. You watched one young man whom you barely remembered, dressed in a grey button up shirt and black slacks, take his note card and begin walking across the room. You followed him with your eyes until he sat at Amagi’s table, and she perked up, her eyes widening. She flashed you a look before quickly bowing her head to the young man and pulling out her cell phone. She seemed nervous still, but somewhat happy. You hoped that the two of them would work out, or at the very least have a few nice dates. Maybe her mother would stop pestering her about marriage. 

“Your phone.” 

You snapped your attention to the brunette who was standing at your side, not bothering to sit in the chair across from you. His hand was outstretched, palm facing upward like he was expecting something. You blinked a few times, before pulling your phone out from your handbag and unlocking it. 

“What do you want my phone for?” You asked, still somewhat confused by his sudden presence. 

“So I can put my number into it, obviously.” 

“Oh,” you nodded, passing him your cell. “Wait, you picked me?” 

“Why else would I be standing here?” He gave a brief roll of his eyes, and you watched him quickly type a series of numbers into your contacts before handing your phone back to you. “What does your schedule look like next weekend?” 

“I uh,” you paused in thought, considering reiterating you were usually much too busy to make time for dates. But the way he held your gaze, azure eyes unwavering and square jaw set in a slightly tense frown, made you reconsider. What could be the harm in one date? “I can make myself free.” 

“Saturday, seven PM. I’ll have a limousine pick you up from your home--”

“A limo?”

He gave another of those disarming smirks, “Of course. Wear something nice.” 

And with that, he spun on his heels and walked out of the hotel ballroom, leaving you with his contact information on your phone and a feeling of butterflies swarming in your stomach.


End file.
